It's Always The Same
by Tensleep
Summary: Someone has to bring the news no one ever wants to hear...Set the night the Curtis' parents die.


Well, lately I have been in a writing slump, as some of you may have noticed. So, I decided that I was going to do something to get out of it. This is something new – style wise – and I know it has been done before, but a great writer once gave me a bit of advice and I am following up with it here. He told me to not think and just write. He even told me not to read it over once I finished it. So, you all are getting the unedited/purely experimental version of this story. So, I hope everyone enjoys.

Disclaimer: I own all the laundry I have to put away around my homework…fun, I know. S.E. Hinton owns The Outsiders

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It's the same every time. The twisted metal, the lifeless bodies and the white sheets they throw over them. I watch as they are slowly loaded onto the ambulance to be taken to the morgue. I guess that would be what most people think is the hardest part of the job, but they'd be wrong. Working with the living, the grieving that are left behind is far harder than dealing with the empty shells left after a collision. At least they weren't in pain anymore. Tonight would be no different.

The head paramedic comes over to me slowly, looking defeated and downtrodden. I don't bother to try and give him a reassuring smile and I don't bother to tell him he did his best. He knows just like I do. We have the same song and dance routine every time someone dies on the road. He knows, just like I do that there is so much more to do, but he'll have part of none of it. His job was done and mine was just beginning.

I take the papers he'd been carrying and look them over slowly. Their names, their addresses, their ages, weights, hair and eye color are all there for me on the first page. The entire lives of two people summed up in two pieces of paper for my viewing. It was wrong that this was all that was left. I flip to the next page, looking it all over for the sake of the paramedic when I come across the one piece of information that I needed to know, but hated to know at the same time.

"They had three children."

The paramedic nods and hands me a picture of three boys. The photo – most likely from the wallet I'm assuming the man carried – is covered with dried blood. It was most likely removed from him just before the bodies were carted off. I will myself not to let anything show in my features because the medic looks like he's miserable enough as it is. I carefully flip the papers back to their original order as the medic hands me a small envelope that contains the wallet, jewelry and the like off the bodies and what they could find from the woman's purse. I look up at the medic, wondering if he knew what an opportunity he had to be a thief, but he's an honest man. I can just tell with people. I put the picture into the pouch and nod at him in dismissal so he can go and have a minute to himself. Like I said, he'd done his job and mine was just beginning.

I started off towards my car; careful not to step on the food that litters the ground. They'd just left the market when it happened and the bags had gone flying. Groceries and broken glass with the stains of blood I have come to ignore. It's always the same. Every time.

I absently ran over the facts in my head as I drove. Three children: Darrel, Sodapop and Ponyboy – all real names as stated on their birth certificates. Darrel is the oldest and is 19 – an adult by society's standards. Sodapop is 15 and has a brief record with the department. Ponyboy is only 13 – a baby practically. They're all too young to have a visit from me and I almost feel bad. But I know better. I am only the bearer of the bad news who gets blamed for the pain a drunk caused.

Before I know it I'm in the right neighborhood and finally on the right street. I didn't even have to look at the house numbers as I drove up the street. It's always the house half way down with the front porch light on for whomever the family is waiting on to get home. It's the first sign I get that there is hope and love in the house and I have been sent to shatter it. But I still manage to get out of the car and shove the envelope in my pocket before slowly starting up the walk.

They lived on the poor side of town. It's apparent, even with no light but that from the porch to illuminate my way across the yard. The grass needs trimming, the flowerbeds show a simple attempt at making the house look nicer and the gate had been stiff when I opened it. The first step of the porch is solid under my weight and appears to be well maintained, even if the paint can be seen peeling. I raise my eyes to the house and notice it could use a good coat of paint, as well. A small summer warmed breeze makes the peeling chips flutter and the bushes tremble. I notice the football thrown haphazardly by the door and straighten up a bit. There's no use in stalling.

I raise my hand to the door and knock. There is always someone waiting up on nights like these. Usually it was the father waiting on his son or daughter to come home after curfew, but that would not be the case tonight. A moment later a boy of possibly twenty comes to the door with a suspicious look on his face. The expression changes slightly to one of wariness and I wait for the first comment to come from him. It gives him a bit of control he would otherwise not have. I have all the control I need.

"Can I help you?" he asks

"Darrel Curtis? My name is Warren Green. I'm with the Tulsa Police Department. May I come in?"

The look on his face changes to one that is more indifferent and relaxed. I assume someone in the house has been in trouble with us before and the boy doesn't seem threatened anymore. Sometimes the men in uniform do have it easier, but he opens the door for me without asking to see a badge. He leads me into their front room and offers me a seat. Before I accept, I have to get something out of the way.

"Is there anyone else at home?"

"My brothers," the boy answers with a bit of wariness and warning mixed into his tone

"Would you get them, please?"

"Why?"

"This concerns all of you," I clarify, but the boy still looks me over before turning towards the hall

Now is when I remove my hat, sit, and look around the room. There are simple decorations in the room and, as always, there are pictures of the boys on the wall. I've done this time and time again with parents and always there is a picture of their dead son or daughter on the wall smiling. Somehow that makes it harder. There was no picture of the victims tonight. It was a first for me. Now I took a minute preparing how I want to tell these boys what happened. I don't know quite what to expect, but treating them like adults seems to be my best option. Something about trying to sugarcoat these things just makes them worse. I look up and see the boys filing in behind the one that answered the door. It's the same looks on their faces that help me to settle into the job at hand. It's the same every time.

"These are my brothers, Sodapop and Ponyboy."

He watches me; looking to see which one I'll focus on, which one was in trouble. I wish it were that simple, kid, I really do. I nod and glance both boys over. The next oldest, Sodapop, looks like the mother. The youngest, Ponyboy, looks sleepy and confused. I shifted on the couch and they all sat down so they could face me. Darrel crosses his arms and sets his jaw. Ponyboy tries not to yawn as Sodapop hooks his hands under his knees with a pointed look from Darry to keep from picking at the sofa. They didn't have much, they couldn't afford to pick – especially now. There would be funeral bills, debts to be paid and after that, day-to-day bills. Even if the immediate situation was different, the aftermath was all the same; just like it was every time.

"Where's Mom and Dad?" Ponyboy asks his brother who shrugs

"Mr. Green, it's late," Darrel starts and I nod, knowing I'd left it long enough

"I'm afraid I have some bad news. There was an accident tonight involving your parents. It was fatal."

All three of them looked back at me with different expressions. Normally I would be giving this news to a mother and a father, perhaps an older sibling on occasion. I'd never had to deal with children. They weren't normally old enough to understand. I was glad for that and I hated it at the same time. Perhaps social services had the hardest job of all.

"Are they alright?" Sodapop asks

I glance over at the worried expression on his face and know that look well. The mother in this scenario generally wears it when I give her this news. They ignore the words 'fatal accident'. They just hear 'accident'. I'd had mothers get up to go and dress so they can get to the hospital and take care of their children. I'd even had one who insisted that she be driven to where he daughter was so she could take her home and care for her in her home. It was amazing what the human mind would register and what it wouldn't. I felt for him.

"No," Ponyboy looks disbelieving "You must have someone else's parents."

Some fathers were in denial like that. They ask me what their son or daughter had done before I tell them the crash was fatal. The next moment they are denying the possibility it could be their child that died. I never make trips like these, not unless I am certain. I always wish I could be wrong, though. It never turns out that way.

Darrel looks like he's doing his best to keep a hold on his emotions. He looks me over with eyes that tell me he understands what I told him but wishes he didn't. He sets a hand on the blonde's shoulder and looks grave. The blonde looks at him with desperate eyes and glances over at me again, wondering why I have no answer.

"Are they ok?" he repeats and I shake my head

"No. The crash was fatal."

"What does that mean?" he asks and Darrel saves me from having to explain

"They died, Sodapop," Darrel says as evenly and gently as he can "They were killed in that crash."

Sodapop shakes his head in disbelief and looks from me to his younger brother. There was a look of shock in Ponyboy's face mixed with the starting of a few tears. He hadn't needed that explained to him.

"No." Sodapop shakes his head as he looks between his younger and older brothers "No!"

Darrel keeps his gaze steady as Sodapop's eyes began to fill with tears. He takes in a gulping breath and Ponyboy sniffles. That's when the wail of grief came and Sodapop is pulled into the strong arms of Darrel. Both of the younger brothers are now crying at this point in each of Darrel's arms. His face is set and he isn't crying. He sends me a very serious look and I know it well. The scene is the same, just like it always is.

I lay the envelope on the table along with a note saying that the social services people would be getting in touch with them on the morning. I looked up again to see if he will accept any condolences. The look on his face tells me he wants just one thing: for me to leave. So I nod and make my way back to the front door. I close it behind me and make my way back to my car. The papers are still sitting on the seat where I left them, along with many others from the week that will need to make it to my desk in the coroner's office. I lay my hat over them and closed the door. I sit for a moment like that before I notice the buzz of the police radio. There has been another accident on the highway.

I reach over and turn the knob until it's off. I've delivered enough bad news for one night.

/-/-/-/-/-/

Ok, the end! This is so weird for me…Anyways…

Any comments at all are welcome and flames are accepted.

See ya in the funny papers!

Tens


End file.
